


Bad Girls

by Makemegray



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:23:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makemegray/pseuds/Makemegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girls like Bianchi, you didn't take home with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Girls

**Author's Note:**

> After downloading the KHR FSTs by [](http://mychemical-lust.livejournal.com/profile)[**mychemical_lust**](http://mychemical-lust.livejournal.com/), we got to talking about a Dino/Bianchi FST. During the conversation, I said that if she did it, then I would write a fic and dedicate it to her. Well...it sort of went backwards...I was looking back over an FST I downloaded to look at some of the songs and saw that conversation. And then.....I got inspired and wrote one of those really quick, really _long_ fics. And like I said here it is, dedicated to [](http://mychemical-lust.livejournal.com/profile)[**mychemical_lust**](http://mychemical-lust.livejournal.com/)! I expect that FST soon!

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[character: bianchi](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/character%3A%20bianchi), [character: dino cavallone](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/character%3A%20dino%20cavallone), [het](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/het), [series:khr](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/series%3Akhr)  
  
  
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At this point, you can't remember who started it.

It's become an addiction and you're pretty sure that it's going to ruin your life or hers. At this point you don't really care.

Not when she's wrapping those mile-long legs around your waist and using your tie to drag you closer. To reel you in, lasso you to her like her own private pony.

She snorts when you make that comment aloud. An unladylike thing that's so different from all those shy, buxom girls your famiglia throws at you.

That's how it started.

When she kicked your ass because you underestimated her. Because your Mama had taught you well and smacked you upside the head at the first unkind word uttered toward a female.

You made a disparaging remark about her brother and his baseball idiot and those Scorpione had been snapping their claws at you faster than you could add in your macho laugh to the crack.

Because you didn't have it in you to draw your whip or Scudelia on a girl, she'd flattened you to the fine Neapolitan pavement, stepped over your bleeding body and might as well have spit on you for all the contempt she showed in that single action.

You weren't sure who started it but you were going to be the one to finish it.

Instinct told you that she would just as soon as slip cyanide into your fettuccine before going on a date with you, so other tactics were necessary.

You challenged her to a rematch, used your wounded pride as an excuse and didn't even mind that your coat got singed by a stray poison pizza. You were able to figure her out just a little bit.

She was more like her brother than most people realized.

That same brash and explosive nature dwelled in her as in Gokudera. Only Bianchi managed to temper it with class, restraint and more than a little apathy. There were very few things she cared enough about to work herself into a temper.

It was in your favor that she'd lost one of those things some time ago.

She'd accepted that her feelings for Reborn wouldn't ever be returned and that to him, she'd been little more than jailbait.

At 25 she understood the difference between a man loving her and a man toying with her and she had enough experience with both that she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Which is why you didn't really blame her for writing you off immediately.

Your reputation proceeded you after all. Those buxom Italiana's talked after all and Italy wasn't really that big when you were the 10th boss of a prominent mafia family.

It was one of those snorts and a "Che Cazzo, Dino Cavallone?" that greeted you when you showed up on her doorstep with carry-out from your chef and a bottle of vodka.

Vodka, because if you were right about her, then she would have shut the door in your face if you'd presented her with wine.

What use did you have for it when you were raised on it? When it was the beverage of choice at every single business meeting on any given day?

If you were right about her and she was like you and looked for any chance to escape from the trappings of the life you were raised in then she would have pushed you off her 8th story balcony if you tried to woo her with wine.

If you were right and she was like you, then she would appreciate the opportunity to commiserate about the life with someone who knew what it was like to be in the thick of it. To get bloody and dirty and half-crazy and come through it alive. In pain, hell yes, but alive and living to flip off the fuckers that tried to take you out.

It turns out you were only half right.

Being dragged into the apartment, tossed on the couch and straddled by the Storm user taking shots of vodka straight from the bottle had not been part of the plan.

You were smart enough not to complain.

Not leaving her bed for the next 36 hours hadn't been either.

Round 5 finished and she sat back, lighting a cigarette and looking you over, flushed and drained and repeated her question from when she first opened the door.

"Haha..."You manage to pant. "I just wanted to congratulate you for another win. There aren't many people who could beat me twice in a row.

One of those snorts and she raised an eyebrow.

"Bullshit. You didn't take me seriously the first time and you paid for it. The second time you were too busy sniffing around me to do any real damage." A nasty curl of her lip as she blew smoke in your direction. "I recognize an animal in heat when all they want from me is whats between my legs."

And that's how it started. This slow decent into some sort of madness.

That mouth of hers and the way she used it when you pulled her close to kiss her quiet.

She hissed and bit and fought until the last when you pinned her to the bed, fucked her slow and ignored her when she called you all sorts of names in a world of languages. When she pressed her heels into the small of your back to drive you in deeper.

Somewhere in between the the last _coglione_ and her breaking to pieces when you reached down to run rough fingers over her clit, you entertain the notion that you might be able to get used to this.

A dangerous woman underneath you who was able to take you apart and put you back together again with a twist of her hips, a swipe of her tongue...

  
When you told her that weeks later, back in her bed and showing no signs of leaving any time soon, she sneered and cuffed you one. She didn't have to say a word for you to know her opinion on the matter.

Girls like Bianchi you didn't take home with you.

She'd sooner slip arsenic into your cafe Americano then settle for being one of those pampered mafia wives.

She didn't know the first thing about big hair and fake nails. As far as she was concerned anything that got in the way of her cooking was useless. And the only garden parties she would be holding were the ones that turned the garden into a graveyard after one bite of the strychnine crabcakes.

No, things would continue on as they had been. Somewhere into year three when you broached the subject again, with the added stipulation of maybe telling people that you were in some sort of relationship, she gave you another one of those withering looks.

Girls like Bianchi you didn't brag about to your friends. Especially when one of them happened to be her brother...it would have been nice to have some sort of commitment you supposed....but as long as she kept doing that thing with her hips, you weren't going to complain. 

_  
**Bad Girls**   
_


End file.
